Bali and Jakarta, an island and a city can make people fall in love with them
I took the 5 a.m. flight back to Jakarta from Bali, experiencing the "Spring Festival Transport" of another country. As early as a week ago, on the day we first arrived in Indonesia, we were told that it happened to be the Islamic "Eid al-Fitr". For a country where 90% of the population is Muslim, Eid al-Fitr is undoubtedly the most grand event in the country. festival. By then, the entire Indonesian middle class will flock to Bali and occupy all the hotels, large and small, and the roads everywhere will encounter unpredictable traffic jams - local Chinese friends described it vividly, clumsily choosing the most simple and simple words. Exaggerated Chinese.So our itinerary was completely disrupted, and we had to plan a staggered trip like the National Day and Spring Festival, hoping to return to Jakarta before Bali was completely occupied by people. During our last few days in Bali we were definitely feeling the crowds. Mr. M, the landlord in Bandung, called me and wanted to meet us at the Jakarta airport and take advantage of the holiday to find an island near Jakarta to play.
Jakarta, I have passed back and forth several times and circled the city at least six or seven times. Even though I pride myself on my sense of direction, I still have no idea about Jakarta. One is, of course, the inconvenience of public transportation. You have to travel on four wheels when going out, and there is always no real sense of local atmosphere. The second is that the local Chinese are so hospitable that you don’t need to think at all. As long as you get in the car, you will be taken everywhere: Financial Street, luxury areas, restaurants, Holland Street, museums...
Financial Street is the most modern street in Jakarta
In the blink of an eye, there are large areas of dilapidated slums. These areas that don't belong to each other at all are bordering each other, like large blocks of contrasting colors, without any transitional colors. I don't know why, no matter where we go, we have to pass through Chinatown. It is said that after 1998, it was sparsely populated. The old overseas Chinese driving the car showed us the charred building, with only the cement outline remaining, standing abruptly. He pointed to another building not far away and said, this is called Miss Building. When asked why, he was told that this building is a dormitory for "young ladies" from mainland China.
The Chinese community in Indonesia has a very interesting ecology. They are scattered in every corner of the city and from all walks of life, but most of them share a common circle of friends and news channels. Most of them are wealthy, free, and extremely passionate. Eagerly seeking news from Chinese people everywhere. Therefore, there are often all kinds of people in the circle: businessmen, hawkers, artists, sometimes swindlers pretending to be officials, and enchanting mature ladies. The Chinese community, which accounts for 3.5% of Indonesia's population, seems to share the country's characteristics, like isolated islands scattered everywhere, eager to find other possibilities.
Indonesia is also known as the country of Thousand Islands. I always thought that there were so many islands, but I didn’t expect that there are thousands of islands near Jakarta. I have no idea which one of them I am going to. We arrived at Jakarta Airport at around 9 o'clock (there is an hour time difference between Jakarta and Bali). Mr. Z from Taiwan has been waiting for us at the airport with his son for an hour. Mr. Z is a Taiwanese who came to Indonesia in the 1980s and can speak Indonesian with a Taiwanese accent.
Out of the airport, the road quickly became rough and bumpy. Because it was a holiday, there were a lot more motorcycles on the road. Often there is a family of three sitting on a motorcycle, scurrying through the gaps in the traffic and disappearing. They may go to a market along the way, or they may go to a small island as a short trip destination like us.
A ferry is just a larger boat than a sampan. The place was densely packed with locals, and I suffered from the dizzy symptoms that all tourists suffer from. I just felt that the people in front of me were all dark-skinned, with bright eyes, and they had a kind of blank curiosity. Only Mr. M saw it clearly. He is in his fifties, has gray hair, wears a floral shirt, beach shorts, slippers, and a sun hat, and is dressed in a typical Southeast Asian overseas Chinese style.
The seawater near the port is not clean. I saw many small jellyfish in the sun, swimming in groups in the same direction. I don’t know what it has to do with the water quality. Ten minutes after the boat sailed, the water gradually became clearer, and the boat bumped up and down along the waves. The sunshine is very good, shining on the sea like a string of golden bells.
Driving past 2 or 3 uninhabited islands along the way, the boat docked in about half an hour. Passengers filed out of the cabin, pulling out large and small bags. The pier was bustling with people, swimmers, souvenir sellers, and food stalls all crowded around the pier, and there was a faint smell. Haha, I finally saw what a civilian tourist attraction is.
When I got ashore, I discovered that there were nearly twenty people in Mr. M’s party, but they were just sitting on the boat, inconspicuous. There was a beautiful girl standing next to Mr. M. I was wondering what to call him when I saw Mr. M winking at me. I have a rough idea. Not to mention that Indonesia is not a monogamous country. Even if it were, it would not be unusual for a wealthy boss to find a little girl. This is almost universally understood logic.
TANJONG PASIR means the corner of the beach. It is indeed a very small island, and it probably only takes less than an hour to walk around the island. There are only a few dozen fishermen families permanently living on the island, and they spend their days fishing in the evenings and returning at dawn. I'm afraid it will only be so lively during holidays. We were arranged to stay at a local fisherman's house, a one-story independent building that was spacious and clean. Various fruits are grown in front of and behind the house, including coconuts, passion fruit, sugar cane, mango, and lotus mist; the seaside is just a five-minute walk away. The landlord is a humble local who occasionally imitates the Japanese and makes jokes. I don’t know where he learned it or why he did this to me.
Mr. M lives with his girlfriend and her girlfriend’s family in another house. This time he took a closer look at the family. Girls have a shy beauty and are very white. "Looking very Chinese" can almost be regarded as a compliment here. The girl's father has a tan face, and his eyes and teeth appear protruding due to muscle contraction. There are also three pairs of young men and women, and seven or eight children. The house cannot be accommodated, and the children are making beds on the floor in the living room. I don't think I can figure out their relationship with my limited imagination. I vaguely remember someone saying to me: "Marrying an Indonesian mother-in-law means marrying her whole family." I think it is similar to this.
Life on the island is sometimes so beautiful that it seems unreal. At three o'clock in the morning, we began our day's life as a moth. Three meals a day of various kinds of seafood are so delicious that it makes you cry; every time you come back from a walk, a pot of iced passion fruit and a basket of sugar cane are ready; birdsong, waves, coconuts, food and clothing are worry-free, and the sun is bright. However, reality will always find an opportunity to bring you back to this unsatisfactory world. For example, the sticky feeling that lingers for a long time after taking a bath in fresh sea water, or when you occasionally come to the food stall and want to have a taste, you are handed a greasy spoon.
Islands always offer very interesting phenomena. Does geographical isolation and being surrounded by the sea allow people to temporarily leave their original selves and provide the possibility of constructing another self?
At least that's what I saw. Mr. Z came to Indonesia in the 1980s, where he married a wife, settled down, and had children. Copying his father's experience in Taiwan, he also inherited the hard memories and temperament of his father's generation, including frugality, diligence, compulsive work, and regarding consumption and pleasure as a sin. Even so, such a diligent man, surrounded by the clear and blue sea, could not help but reluctantly give up the obsession of work and describe to his son the old days on a remote island, where the sandy beaches were fine and white. The water is warm, and the boat floats between twenty years of memories and reality.
Mr. M looked like a successful man, wearing sunglasses and holding the girl's arm while walking. Here you only need to spend a small amount of money to charter a large fishing boat to go fishing, and with a small tip you can get the services of local people. Under the bright sunshine, facing the vast and monotonous sea, with the sea breeze blowing, Mr. M and his girlfriend stood on the bow of the ship facing the wind. On the deck were busy sailors and children with faces flushed with excitement. Of course, there was no wine. There are no well-dressed waiters and no beautiful music, but this does not prevent everything from forming a symbolic parody.
Most of the tourists on the island come and go on the same day, and the island returns to silence at night. The moon was surprisingly large, without any obstruction. The silver moonlight poured down like a waterfall, illuminating the outline of the fishing boats and docks. The wind carries the salty smell of sea water to my head. Looking into the distance, I saw the rolling waves, one wave eagerly chasing the other. I know that underneath the white waves are black rocks that are too deep to step on. It is neither suitable for surfing nor swimming. You can't see any fish while diving, just aquatic plants growing in the cracks of the rocks and shells washed to pieces by the sea water.
And what are we here to do? From one island to another, living a half-real and half-dream life. When you come out of a huge illusion, it is indeed difficult to distinguish the boundary between reality and illusion. What could be more unreal than Bali? Man-made white sand beaches, luxurious hotels, considerate and elegant services, straight and towering coconut trees, resting in the sun and surfing figures on the waves. Everything conforms to the middle-class imagination: a natural scene. It seems that that can realize people's simplest dreams, stay away from complex and crowded cities and interpersonal relationships, and have "the simple and most unexamined happiness."
One of the simplest lifestyles in Bali
Unnaturally continue to turn a blind eye and everything will be perfect. You won't notice that all restaurants serve the same food, pasta, pizza, salad; all Balinese are well-trained, including the 70-year-old woman who can speak fluent Indonesian-style English; regardless of gender People of all ages wear tropical-style Batik; essential oil soaps full of Southeast Asian flavor are sold all over the island.
My eyes are filled with elements of tropical islands. Maybe you won't see anything else, because other scenery does not constitute our imagination of Bali (but will hinder its original harmony and consistency). But occasionally there will always be one or another sudden detail that breaks in and disturbs you. I firmly believe that I saw a tea mat with Yunnan Dongba characters painted on it in a souvenir shop in Bali. Perhaps there is another possibility. There are no words at all, just weird patterns that are free from the text symbol system, satisfying tourists' imagination of foreign lands.
But what's the difference now? I seemed to have arrived on a more real island, and everything seemed to be original. I took a crowded passenger boat to the island; I endured nausea while eating, and took the disgustingly greasy spoon; the shellfish here The handicrafts are all made by local children and are cheap and rough. There are no elegant beaches here, and you will be horrified to see children swimming in dirty and smelly areas holding black rubber life rings, with garbage and feces not far away. Can I really enter a "natural" world with no special concepts of cleanliness and comfort?
In the end, except for the stereotyped descriptions I got from Lonely Planet and a series of other geography books, I could hardly form a complete impression of this country. The faces of Indonesians were only vaguely irrelevant, such as dark skin and bright eyes. On the important details. I still know nothing about "their" living conditions, "their" customs, and "their" preferences. What kind of imagination does the island look like to "them"? Is "their" humility and friendliness the original thing, or is it just a distant and polite attitude towards foreigners? What is the mentality of the girl's father? Is this a decent and enjoyable option for him?
Of course, I do not need to undertake the mission of an anthropologist, nor am I here to dig out the truth. Perhaps my eyes have betrayed me long ago, and I have been avoiding the real details earlier than my will.
Until more than two weeks later, when I left Indonesia from Jakarta Airport. A young customs officer took my passport and looked at it for a long time. I heard him snort. "What are you doing here?" "Traveling." "Just traveling?" "Yes." He looked me up and down. I don't think it was my imagination, he probably twitched the corner of his mouth in disdain. I thought of the Miss Building next to the charred building. Perhaps everyone is bound to become some kind of fixed imagination in the eyes of others.
Bird Island, tired birds return to their nests in the evening.
Dusk on Bird Island
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